Alone is a foreign feeling now. Just because I'm not in the presence of people doesn't mean I don't feel watched. Invisible eyes haunt me from behind and I get into a shameful habit of checking the corners before going to bed. I always leave a light on the hallway just in case. Even in the bakery, I'm reluctant to close the door. Somehow it just seems much too confining, too much like a prison cell. There's a few ragged holes in my cheek where I've bitten it to stop the words I shouldn't say. At dinner, I'm oddly silent. Just eating my soup and only talking to cut someone off. It's my job to keep the others conversations from straying, too, because I've yet to tell any of them. It's not like my odd antics go unnoticed though. My wife watches for a few days without comment before her tongue gets the better of her.

"What are you doing?"

I whirl around from the curtain I'm holding. Just a moment ago, I was certain I'd seen a shadow of a person slinking along the wall.

"Nothing. Closing the curtains," I stammer, knowing how stupid I looked just now.

"You were looking behind them." She raises an eyebrow.

I probably should tell her the truth. Actually, I should have told her a while ago. But every time I try to come up with a good reason to leave town, the words jam up in my throat. I glance outside. The dusk is growing, but there might be just enough light to permit a walk.

"You've been acting very strange lately. What were you doing just now?" my wife demands again. "Looking for ghosts? I'm not going anywhere, so why don't you save time and spill it."

It's true. She'll probably find some way to force it out of me if I don't volunteer the information willingly. So I cock my head outside, hoping she gets the hint. Her only response is that of confusion. "Why don't we go for a walk?" I say at last. "The sky looks really pretty tonight."

"It's cloudy -" she starts to say, but quickly clams up when she catches the look in my eye.

"What is it?" she keeps asking. "Where are we going?"

I don't trust myself to answer, so I just make good pace down the road. Finally, she grabs my arm and forces me to stop walking. "I'm not taking another step until you tell me what's going on. Drag me outside in the frozen dead of winter, why don't you, and then stay quiet!"

I guess this is far enough away, but now that we've reached this point, I find myself stalling. "Nice evening," I say.

"For the love God, what is the point of this?"

"Keep your voice down," I tell her. "We can't talk so carelessly anymore."

"Excuse me?"

"Peeta informed me about this couple days ago. I - I haven't had a chance to tell you. We're being watched. By the Capitol. He figures they're bugging our house, his, and the bakery, too."

"And you haven't told me?" My wife doesn't seem to be in the same silent stupor that the news put me in. In fact, her voice is quickly rising in indignation. "Just didn't have the time, huh? Oh by the way, dear, we may or may not be under constant surveillance so keep your bloody mouth shut!"

"I'm sorry! I just couldn't find the right way to tell you! It - it's not that big of a deal. I mean, we just have to be a bit more cautious. We have nothing to hide, so-"

"Not a big deal!" When she laughs, it's high and cold. "Oh sure, sure not a big deal at all. I'll just check behind the curtains every night and creep around the house like a spooked fox. Maybe you have nothing to hide, but there are others in this household that aren't so compliant with the Capitol's wishes!"

It takes a moment for me to understand what she means. "You- you're keeping something?"

"Not exactly." She's still very affronted, which is to be expected. "You've heard me talk about the rebellion. I'm not exactly a loyalist, am I?"

"No." There's a long, heavy silence. "I'm sorry," I say at last. "I should have told you. I just didn't know how."

She gives a little humph in response.

"Look, Peeta just said -"

"See that's the problem," she interrupts. "You and Peeta have this little inside communication. Just because you bake together doesn't mean you can keep secrets. Especially when they involve the rest of us!"

"It's not like that at all," I try to tell her. Because it isn't. If she thinks that Peeta and I put our heads together and discuss the deepest, darkest fears and ideas, then she's wrong. Most days, I can barely get him to tell me how he's really doing. This whole thing was a fluke. He let it slip.

"Then what is it like?" my wife demands. "I know I've done our children wrong. I understand that they don't trust me, but that's why I have you! You're the one who's good with people and children. If I can't count on you, I can't count on anyone!"

That's an overstatement. I'm awful with people and the only reason Peeta has any tentative trust with me is because we're similar in many ways. Every time I think we're making progress in our relationship, I do something to screw it up. Still, I feel badly about keeping this from her for so long. And I can't pretend there aren't other things I haven't been completely honest about. "Look, things will be better now. I promise to keep you fully informed from now on."

"What are you talking about? Things won't be better. By standing up to Thread at the Hawthorne boy's flogging, Peeta has made it clear he's willing to defy authority. That's what's brought this on, right? We can't just shut up forever. Something's going to happen, someone will say something - I don't want to be a prisoner in my own house!"

"Neither do I, but what choice do we have?"

"Make it clear we're not the issue. If Peeta wants to stand up to authority, that's all fine, but why should they watch us? If they think he's old enough to have a house, then he's old enough to make his own decisions. Let him do what he wants, but it shouldn't affect us!"

"Just a moment ago, you were all willing to admit yourself to the rebel cause!"

"And I can't do that if the Capitol's breathing down my neck, can I?" she spats. "Yes, I want a rebellion. There, I said it. But a rebellion doesn't start because a few adolescents disobey. It's got to be all of us." There's a nasty snarl on her face and I'm startled by this sudden change. I thought we'd worked through this. I thought I'd finally understood where she was coming from. But it seems we've reverted to old time. By lying to her, I've summoned the fire-breathing beast.

"I don't want to argue with you," I say, trying to defuse the situation. Unfortunately, she's not really a "forgive and forget" kind of person.

"Then you need to start acting like part of a team. You can't just suppress the information because it scares you! You think that if you don't acknowledge it, maybe it will all just go away. But I've dealt with the Capitol my whole life. It won't just dissipate, no matter how hard to you try. The only way things will change is if we make a stand."

"I'm not scared," I say defensively. We both know that's a lie.

"Oh, please," she snorts. "And it's okay. A lot of people are. But we have to unite and keeping secrets is the first way to bring us down."

"Okay, I get it. It won't happen again."

"It better not."

We trudge home in silence. She's still fuming at not being notified, so I give her some space. My thoughts wander to Peeta. Apparently, he was supposed to be fitted for a suit today. I wonder what Peeta makes of this fuss about the wedding. Certainly he doesn't like that it seems forced, but what about the outfits and the food? He likes Portia, so the prep can't be all that awful. I make a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow morning.

If only I'd known how little time I'd have that luxury.